


The Eyes of Old Valyria

by SerDinnerRoll



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-01-10
Updated: 2016-01-10
Packaged: 2018-05-12 23:24:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 891
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5685544
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SerDinnerRoll/pseuds/SerDinnerRoll
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>House Targaryen is often identified with purple eyes. And these are but a few things those eyes have seen. Drabbles about members of House Targaryen.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Eyes of Old Valyria

His eyes are sharp amethysts now made dull by the tears that continue to well up in them. He's read the report over a hundred times, always confident that surely Lord Tyrell was mistaken. But every time, the words strike home. She is gone. They do not even have a body to bring back. They took her. He knows not where. But they took her.

And his sorrow is so deep that he cannot be angry.

All he can think of, is a lack of her. No more will her bell-like laugh ring in his ears. No more will her free hair tickle his skin. No more will her soft lips graze his in a tease. And no more will her eyes, eyes like lilacs in spring, gaze upon him with such love.

So he sits among the ruins of Skyreach, his heart in equal condition, and reads and weeps and reads again.

The sound of footsteps on the cracked stone stairs makes him look up and for a second he vainly thinks it to be her. But no. It is not. Instead of laughter, there is chilling silence. Instead of free silver hair, it is constrained in a tight braid. Instead of soft plump lips, there are thin pursed ones. And the eyes. The eyes are the purple of a gathering storm, with lightening threatening to crackle.

"Visenya," he croaks, his voice dry and unused.

She gives a slight tip of the head but nothing more before the note catches her eye. Before he can stand, she struts forward, mail clinking, and grasps the note, crumpling it in her fist.

"You've read this one too many times, brother," she states stonily before thrusting it into the solitary fire that lights the empty courtyard. He lets out a yell, trying to catch it. Trying to save one of the last things to remind him of her.

Yet she grabs his hand and pulls him back. "They are words, not her," she hisses.

So he is forced to watch as the paper blackens and begins to writhe and crumple in on itself, its edges slowly becoming slivers of glowing red.

 _Like Harrenhal_ , he thinks but does not say aloud, _And like that place, now it is equally accursed._

His sigh is one of hopelessness as he sits down on the ancient weirwood stump, his face finding no comfort in the darkness of his hands.

"She is gone," is all he can say.

"Yes," is all she can respond.

Silence passes between them as often it does. His conversations with her were never lively. Never long. And this was never a problem for he always had the other. But now, he has but the one. And the silence reigns supreme.

When he looks up, she is behind him, staring out over the dunes that spread towards the south. The sands that seemed golden earlier in the day, are now a pale blue under the moonlight and starlight. He now sees that like the dunes, he has lost the sun and has been given the moon. And he is all the colder for it.

He stands and walks to her, moving to her side.

"We should attack swiftly," she decides, her voice betraying little, "Go for the castles and then what fields there are. Scare off the smallfolk. Pillage the ports. And interrogate prisoners."

All he can do is shake his head, "First, we get her body."

"Her body is gone. To either the Ullers or the carrion. And I pray fervently that the carrion got to her first. They are more honorable than the Lords of Hellholt."

He looks at her as she stares intently forward, "We must try."

"It would be a waste of time and resources."

"It is like you do not even care!"

"Finding her body will not change the fact that she is dead."

"She was my sister!"

And with that, something breaks and Visenya's head snaps toward him with a look of fury and insult and loss, "And she was mine too!"

That is when he notices the single red streak down her face and the slightly scarlet eyes. And he remembers her.

They embrace tightly, each clinging on as though if they should let go they'd both be lost. He feels his tears begin to spring anew and he feels her gentle spasms as she sobs silently into his chest. In that moment, they are not alone.

But the moment passes. She dries her eyes quickly and grips Dark Sister's hilt with a desperate tightness. "We will move out at sunrise and head straight for Yronwood. By then, you are to be collected and calm as befits a king. I will not have the soldiers see you weep like a child."

It reminds him, "Aenys..."

"Will learn how his mother died honorably in combat."

"What comfort is in that?"

"None. But it is the truth."

He cannot bring himself to argue with her, so he continues to stare out into this hated land where all he has gained is maimed friends and dead love.

"We may not be able to bring her back," Visenya declares with her military voice, "But we may remind these Rhoynish bastards of our words."

"Fire and Blood," he murmurs as the roar of Balerion echoes through the canyons of the Red Mountains.

 

**Author's Note:**

> If there is a Targaryen drabble you'd like to see, include it in the comments.


End file.
